Slippery Possessions
by Inspired Demon of Fiction
Summary: The Doctor takes a few licks… *deletes* *rewrites* The Master's mouth possesses… *deletes quickly and rewrites* Licking as… *smashes keyboard with head* OH FOR CYRING OUT LOUD! WILL THE RIDICULOUSLY DIRTY PUNS NEVER END! 10/Simm!Master
1. Part 1

**Title:** Slippery Possessions

**Summary:** The Doctor takes a few licks… *deletes* *rewrites* The Master's mouth possesses… *deletes quickly and rewrites* Licking as… *smashes keyboard with head* OH FOR CYRING OUT LOUD! WILL THE RIDICULOUSLY DIRTY PUNS NEVER END?!?!

…_no._

*hides in shame of her own slashiness*

**Rating:** R for… dear god, the PUNS! They don't stop! They never EVER stop!

**Author's Note:** So, I joined up with #slashlords and promptly found tulapeiwa's signature, which reads: "You can't take it with you... but you can lick it so no one else takes it when you're gone". And it got stuck in my brain. So after taking a physics test the gnawing urge, not even urge, _craving_ to write Doctor/Master came into mind accompanied by this charming phrase and… we get this.

"You can't take it with you... but you can lick it so no one else takes it when you're gone!" The TV blared as the spokesperson grinned broadly, demonstrating their new product.

"Ugh!" the Doctor cringed emphatically, "who _writes_ these TV slogans? They should really get better people for this..." still with a disgusted grimace, the Doctor continued watching the endless advert in hopes that the actual program would come on again soon.

The Master, who had been attempting to ignore the Doctor's bizarre habit of watching telly in bed, was in a chair secluded from the chatterbox and the mechanical thing that entertained him. But with that advert, he perked up. It had given him pause, about licking something so no one else would take it... Yes, licking something, or more specifically some_one_, as a form of possession. _There _was a devious idea if he'd ever had one.

Sneakily, so as not to arouse the Doctor's… suspicion, the Master turned in his high-backed chair ever so slightly, still pretending to read the unrated version of "Crime and Punishment". With even more _punishment_ than the original.

"Yes, you too could now be the proud owner of this never-before-seen saliva-everlasting technology! Once you lick it, no one else will EVER be able to touch it!" a very moist alien, the Master realized, was selling this product. Which made a little more sense, but now brought up the question of how on earth the Doctor had gotten hold of an interstellar television.

"Finally!" the Doctor exclaimed as the program finally returned. A special on the importance of bananas throughout history and their shaping of the known universe. How very typically _Doctor_…

The Master rolled his eyes, disgusted with his warden. Yes, indeed, the poor sod had, in fact, used a crude human technique of bringing him back to life through extensive electric shock and air from his own lungs through mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The Master's delight at this realization when he was brought back to life was only equaled by his absolute _horror_ that the git just _couldn't_ let him die.

Since then he had been kept, every waking and sleeping moment, under the Doctor's watchful, if sometimes more than necessary, stare. And, at first, his spine had prickled with intense irritation and exasperation at the thick idiot, and then had slowly turned into something much more dangerous still… a sort of hungry, jealous, _greedy_ lust.

The Master's teeth ground together in frustration as he watched his would-be lover gleefully lavish attention on the unresponsive television set. Why couldn't he ever be that excited about the Master? He pouted slightly. Not that he _tried_ to get the Doctor's attention, not with the Doctor barring every door, locking every control, hiding his laser screwdriver, even going so far as to _tuck him in at night_. Which the Master couldn't stand… especially since he never got a goodnight kiss to go with it. It was maddening!

No, the Master had made up his mind, he _wanted_ the Doctor, and he wanted him BAD. And, when the Master wanted something… he wasn't just going to get it, he was going to get and use it in ways that made sure NO one else would EVER get to use it. _EVER_. The Master smirked slightly, oh yes, with how bad he wanted the Doctor and how possessive he had really always felt about him, no one ever ever ever _ever_ in a _million_ lives as a Time Lord was ever getting _his_ Doctor.

The Doctor yawned, stretching, "That's about enough telly for tonight… come on, Master, I'll take you to bed."

The Master bit down hard on his tongue to keep it from wagging out of his mouth and looking like the lovesick fool that, in truth, he was. Closing his book sharply, he replaced it on the Doctor's bedside bookcase (the damn things practically populated the TARDIS, a bookshelf around every corner), and stood up with a vaguely haughty expression and just the slightest hint of a sneer, which would have passed for normal Master face.

The Doctor, seeming not to notice any change, gestured for the Master to make his way out the door and followed close behind. The Master really found it rather insulting that his bedroom was so far away from the Doctor's instead of, in the same bed, or at the very least, in the same _room_. But no, he had been given that little closet bed a level above the Doctor's sleeping quarters.

When the Master had seen it he thought the Doctor had been joking, or perhaps getting revenge, but when he turned out to be _serious_ the Master threw fit… which resulted in a cold shower. Because the Doctor got his kicks from humiliating the Master and preventing him from hurting anything, including himself, through a clever set of TARDIS controls. The TARDIS went into panic mode whenever violence was detected and nullified the threat at its source… namely, bodily restraining the Master whenever he tried something by creating long tendrils out of its walls to hold him back.

And on those nights when the Doctor would squeeze inside and tuck him in, it could almost be called intimate, except for there was a very strict policy of no contact. And it was _infuriating_.

Tonight proved no different as the Master laid down on his tiny trundle bed and the Doctor pulled up the covers, neatly fitting them back under the mattress.

"Why do you do this?" the Master asked coldly.

"Because," the Doctor did not look up, "I have to take care of you. Tucking you in at night is part of that," he stood up, grinning amiably.

The Master groaned and rolled his eyes, "Maybe if I was 82, but I'm no younger than you are Doctor!"

The Doctor's grin remained; he stepped back to the door, "Then it's because I _want_ to," the Doctor's grin widened and switched off the light, closing the door firmly behind him.

The Master glared at the closed door, oh, he knew why the Doctor did it. Partly just to annoy him, but partly because he felt it too, that strange, undeniable attraction between them, almost magnetic in it's power and gravitational in its constancy. Who rotated around whom was an unanswerable question, but the Master would never admit to revolving around the Doctor.

Sighing, the Master settled into his hand-tucked sheets, waiting for some sign that the Doctor was asleep. Listening closely, eventually the Master recognized the sound of the Doctor's soft snoring. Undoing all the Doctor's careful handiwork, the Master padded out of bed and quickly befuddled the TARDIS lock on his door.

He approached the cell phone the Doctor always left on the TARDIS control panel. Remembering the number flashed on the screen, the Master typed in the galactic code, the earth extension, the high-speed connector… The Master _hated_ buying things by mail order, but at least this way it would be untraceable.

After roughly an_ hour_ waiting on hold, the poor outsourced alien at the other end got a piece of the Master's mind as well as the outrageous price they were asking for. The Master was a bit uneasy giving out the TARDIS homing address, so instead chose its current location. At last, after losing almost two hours of sleep to this ridiculous plot, the Master returned to bed.

The Doctor slept on, unaware of the foil unfolding around him.


	2. Part 2

Bright and early the next morning, as annoyingly usual, the Doctor got up and started making breakfast. The Master groaned angrily as the loud 'making-breakfast' music blared up through the TARDIS chambers, serving as an unstoppable alarm clock.

The Master rolled over, turning to the ticking clock on his wall: 6:15 am. "I'm in hell…" the Master grumbled, turning back over and pulling his pillow over his head.

"FOR SOME REASON I CAN'T EXPLAIN!" the Doctor suddenly jumped in, tone deaf voice carrying through the TARDIS and pervading every sense of calm and privacy the Master possessed.

Pushed to the edge, he threw the pillow down and banged open the door, hollering, "TURN THAT RACKET OFF, YOU TONE-DEAF, WASTE. OF. SPACE!"

Though the Doctor said nothing, the Master got the distinct impression from his silence that the Doctor was sticking his tongue out at him. The Master closed his yes, counted to ten, begged for patience, and envisioned the Doctor naked, gleefully adding that this might soon become a reality.

Sighing and feeling a little better than before, he made his way to the showers, the most attention he got all day.

Feeling particularly obnoxious, the Master didn't bother drying his hair and went down to the kitchen in nothing but his underwear and a robe.

"So if you love me, won't you let me know…" the Doctor was singing quietly to himself, "If you love me –" he turned around and stopped, seeing the Master in the doorway. The Master's sly grin of triumph over the Doctor all but submitting to him slowly melted into weary embarrassment at the Doctor's get up.

He was wearing his favorite 'Kiss the Cook' apron, that the Master _swore_ he only wore just to irk him and the weekend shirt that read, "Trust me, I'm a Doctor."

The Master was even more ashamed because he had the dreadful feeling that he had once given the Doctor that shirt as a present. The Doctor had always been a sucker for a bad pun.

Most Time Lords, after approximately the age of 190, stopped celebrating birthdays, but the Master and the Doctor had vowed to always remember each other on the Doctor's favorite human holiday: Christmas. No matter if they were in the heat of battle against each other or if they were at opposite ends of the universe, they always sent a gift.

Over the centuries, of course, this tradition degenerated and the gifts became increasingly lethal, but it was the thought that counted. In fact, on every bomb and letter of anthrax, the Master always signed it, "Love, The Master", for old times' sake, obviously… not because any of those warm feelings still EXISTED.

Nope.

Never.

Not a single one.

The Master realized he was staring, not so innocently, at the Doctor. It took the Doctor's questioning look slowly turning into one of indulgent smugness that finally snapped him out of it.

"The next time you make breakfast, at least pick a decent band," the Master huffed, sitting down and grabbing the plate of eggs.

"Aw, but I love Coldplay," the Doctor pouted.

The Master rolled his eyes, "Only because you gave Chris Martin the title of 42."

The Doctor chose not to comment and sat down himself, taking up spreading jam on a piece of toast.

"And I see your dress-sense hasn't _actually_ changed for the better since your Sixth," the Master remarked, scathingly.

The Doctor's smug grin returned, "You're just mad because you could never stand the truth."

The Master almost cracked the plate as he cut a little too forcefully into his pancakes. He was making up his mind to steal the last melon slice and take his food up to his room when an ungodly howling was sounded from just outside the TARDIS.

"Hold on, what's that?" the Doctor scrambled up from the table and left the likewise eggs on his plate.

The Master winced at the bad pun in the above sentence, breaking the fourth wall entirely, the Doctor was going to have to fix that later, and reluctantly followed the Doctor.

"!" something, that was probably in horrible pain, yelped from outside, "!"

"Hold on, hold on," the Doctor muttered, hurriedly unlocking all of the locks he had had to put extra on the TARDIS door because of the Master's more and more desperate escape attempts.

The Master sauntered down the stairs, totally at ease with whatever the poor creature outside was whining about.

"AAARROOOOOOOOOOOO – ruff!" the animal's howl was cut short as the door opened and the Doctor stepped out.

"Aaaaawwwwwwwwww! It's a doggy, I love doggies!" the Doctor crouched down to pet the animal as it ran up to him excitedly.

"A dog?" the Master rushed to the TARDIS doorway, "But it's a mongrel! It probably has rabies, Doctor." You could say that the Master wasn't_ exactly_ a dog person.

"Oh, who's a good puppy? Who's a good puppy?" the Doctor ignored the Master entirely and ruffled the big dog's ears as it tried to lick every inch of the Doctor it could get to.

Now_ that_ struck a chord. This _dog_, this flea-bitten, mangy, idiotic sub-species of the planet was _licking. His. Doctor._

"Now, what were you crying about, big fella? You injured? Or just lonely?" the Doctor looked deep into the dog's eyes.

Almost as if it understood, the dog whimpered and nuzzled the Doctor's face with his great, furry head.

"Aaawwww… that's right, you're just lonely. You need a home. Well, alright boy –"

"Wait, Doctor! You're not _seriously_ considering _keeping_ that thing, are you?" the Master's eyes widened in shock, the Doctor was certifiably insane, but the Master never thought it would come to _this_! Taking in stray animals! It was UNTHINKABLE!

"Oh, come on Master! Look at him; he's just a big puppy who needs a home…"

"NO." The Master set himself firmly inside the doorway, "That mutt will not step one _paw_ inside the TARDIS."

The Doctor stood up to his full head-above-the-Master height and put on that look of stubbornness that was born from many years trying to stand against the Master's will. The Master knew that look and _loathed_ it. Not only because he never pulled it off quite right, but also because it was a sure sign of a tussle, and not the kind that ended up with naked wrestling.

The Master's glare turned glacier cold, a look that he was quite proud of, mostly because he knew it pierced the Doctor's hearts like shards of ice.

The Doctor picked up the large dog that had never been so quiet in all its life, and approached the TARDIS, "Get out of the way." The words echoed strangely as if, far off in the future, they might have meant something incredibly significant…

But alas, at this moment in time, they did nothing but spur the Master on to hold himself more defiantly still, "No," he answered.

The Doctor drew a deep breath, stepped nose to forehead with the Master, and… the mutt licked him! The Master was so disgusted he stepped back reflexively in shock and horror, allowing the Doctor to run inside and set the happily barking dog down. The Master looked up just in time to see the dog slobber the Doctor's face with kisses.

HIS.

_DOCTOR._

**THE DOG. **_**LICKED.**_** HIS. ****DOCTOR!**

The Master was pretty sure at least one of his hearts was having heart attack. But did the Doctor notice? NO! He was busy reciprocating the stupid animal's affection! RECIPROCATING!

Wait, that meant… oh no, the Master watched on in silent horror as the Doctor kissed the smelly animal on top of its wretched head! He collapsed in agony at the unfairness of it all! The animal! The dumb, pointless, stupid animal that had spent less than five minutes with him was getting kisses, when HE the Doctor's SOULMATE for Rassilon's sake, the last of his kind, who had spent lifetimes with him, was TUCKED INTO BED AT NIGHT. AND WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A HANDSHAKE!

The Master felt he was beyond counting to ten, instead of patience, he begged for unconsciousness, and to hell with naked, he wanted the Doctor _on his knees_ in front of him, saying his name in that desperate tone that only he…

"Master?"

…that was not the tone.

The Master opened his eyes slowly, the Doctor and… _the thing_… stood above him, "What're you doing on the floor?"

"Taking a nap," he answered sourly, "what's it look like?" He picked himself up, dusting off his robe.

"You should have gotten more sleep last night if you're tired now," the Doctor advised, completely ignorant of or completely ignoring the Master's sarcasm.

The Master fantasized that he was having a brain aneurysm so that, _maybe_, he could be rid of all this frustration!

"I'm going to go fetch the dog a collar, and see if I can't figure out what breed he is…" the Doctor started to run off, "oh! And think of a name for him while I'm gone!" He smiled brilliantly, waving at the Master as he left.

"It's a mutt!" the Master shouted, "We'll call it MUTT." He didn't even _want_ to know why the Doctor had a dog collar… as intriguing as the possibilities were.

He exhaled gruffly then stared furiously down at the shaggy dog. It wagged it's tail for a moment then stopped, and _growled_.

The Master got down at eye level with the beast, "_GRRRRRRRRR!_" he growled back, and a lot more ferociously.

The dog growled again, but then whimpered and ran away just as the Doctor was returning, "Allo! Here's the collar," he knelt beside his new pet and put the collar on.

"Thought of a name yet?" he questioned the Master, striding closer, the dog following him.

"Hundreds: mutt, mongrel, idiot, _thing_, inferior life form," the Master smirked.

"_Master_," the Doctor chastised, pouting slightly, "behave… he's just a dog, what's he ever done to you? Although, if memory serves, you never were a dog person… especially after that…"

"That vow of secrecy still holds, _Doctor_," the Master threatened.

The Doctor snorted a little at the Master's dark glower, "It's been _lifetimes_! Surely you've gotten over that little incident by now!" The Doctor couldn't hold down a chortle as the Master's cheeks turned slightly pink.

Without another word the Master abandoned the tramp and his pet to their games and stomped off to brood in his room *ahem* _lair_… temporarily, like any proper villain.


	3. Part 3

"MASTER!"

The Master couldn't believe it… just when his dream was beginning to be worth while, the _real_, far less easily seduced, Doctor shouted his name.

In a very grumpy fashion, the Master stumped outside onto the staircase, "WHAT?!" he shouted down.

"Oh, there you are…" the Doctor looked up, "Come on, I'm going to take Harold for a walk!"

"Harold?" the Master asked incredulously, beginning to walk down the stairs.

"Yeah… Harold, the dog's name is Harold."

"That's not a proper name for a dog…" the Master grumbled a few of his better inventions for a name under his breath, "and… why?"

"Because he's hairy!" the Doctor grinned in that silly way this regeneration had, utterly pleased with himself, despite the Master's incredibly dry look.

The Master shook his head, "So… why are you taking him on a walk? And why involve me?" He just barely avoided a pout in that.

"Well, he's just had his dinner and I can't leave you here by yourself, you'd find some way to escape in the TARDIS, so you're coming with us."

"WHAT?!" the Master screamed, "Come… come with you? And walk _the flea-bag_?! No, no, never, _not on your life, Doctor_. How would it look, the ex-prime minister who went mad and his _gay_ friend _walking a dog_ together?!"

"Oh… got a point there," the Doctor frowned, "we'll have to go back in time," he grinned that stupid grin again and began running about the TARDIS controls, setting them up for time travel.

The Master sighed, "All that, and the only thing you're worried about is people recognizing me…"

The Doctor rounded about again just as the TARDIS started taking off. The Master hit the right lever and balanced it out just before the Doctor had to perform one of his many double-joint, stretch techniques to fix it, "Thanks," he said quietly.

In a few moments the TARDIS touched down. "1973!" the Doctor exclaimed.

The Master frowned, looking up at him, "Why 1973?"

"Thought it'd be fun… we get to put on costumes!" the Doctor practically 'squeed' racing up to the costume closet.

"Oh… no…" the Master closed his eyes, counted to ten, begged for patience, and pretended the Doctor was performing one of his many double-joint, stretch techniques on him… sans clothing.

"Here we are!" the Doctor returned wearing…

The Master's jaw fell, "You ARE. NOT. wearing. _that._"

He was wearing his third regeneration's costume.

The memories came flooding back to the Master. This was NOT happening, this _wasn't_ happening! He was about to start tearing his hair out when the Doctor threw him his costume, "Don't worry; I don't have any of your clothes from back then."

The Master could have killed him for that, _literally_… and then resurrected him when that drug arrived, of course.

He looked up and saw a leather jacket… and that was the best thing there. The outfit included a wide-collared, striped, pastel shirt and bell bottoms… this _WAS NOT_ happening! He felt like whimpering into a tiny ball… maybe he could blame the drums, which had been oddly quiet lately, and make the Doctor let him stay… or better yet, make the Doctor stay with him and pet and pamper him until he 'got better'. Sod the effing dog.

"Come on Master… go put it on, I'll be here with Harold," the mutt barked happily. The Master had been kinda hoping that the time-traveling would kill it, or at least make it violently ill.

This was by far the lowest point of his trip on the TARDIS; the Master grudgingly trudged up to the bathroom. He replaced his standard black suit and tie with the ridiculous period clothing. And no matter how much that wide-collar might flatter his neck, he DID NOT enjoy this.

Putting a hand in a pocket of the jacket, he found one of those odd little necklaces that was so popular for that era. Thinking things couldn't get any worse, he put it on and mockingly decided it suited him.

The Master returned downstairs.

"Oh, brilliant! You look just like you stepped out of the 1970's!" the Doctor beamed.

"Doctor… you're taking your life in your own hands making me wear this," the Master threatened viciously.

"Oh, I took my life in my hands the day I met you, Master," he continued beaming as they stepped into 1973.

The Master instantly wanted to return to the TARDIS. There were people and sunlight and cars, all things he could easily avoid by just staying inside with the Doctor snuggled in a bed together… but no, the Doctor, with an audacity the Master didn't know he had, pulled him along… _by the hand_…

The Master willed his hearts to slow down, the Doctor would feel it surely, and then all his careful planning would be ruined! COMPLETELY RUINED! He yanked his hand back, a little reluctantly, following the Doctor and muttasaurus rex at a healthy space behind.

God, he just wanted to get back on the TARDIS… and get his LICK-IT-ALL! Oh… then a dreadful thought struck the Master. What if the LICK-IT-ALL arrived in the 21st century while they _weren't there?_ With no TARDIS to guard it, some foolish _human being _might pick it up… _and throw it away!_ Or worse, USE IT _THEMSELVES!_ The _idea_ was enough to make the Master panic and speed up to where the Doctor was with Muttsy McMuttsalot… admittedly, not one of his better insulting names for the dog.

"Doctor, we should really get back to the TARDIS soon," the Master whispered in his ear.

The Doctor turned to him as Harold sniffed around tree after tree, "What? Why?"

The Master swallowed, "Because… we can't just leave it there by itself! What if… what if it were vandalized?!"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at the Master, "Are you all right, Master? The drums bothering you?"

The Master groaned, but then realized that was _perfect_, "Yes! Yes, the drums! The drums, they're driving me crazy Doctor!"

The Doctor chuckled, "Crazier, maybe…"

The Master sighed desperately, he didn't have time for this, "Yes, fine, but… I need painkillers! Tylenol! Advil! A Harvey Wallbanger!"

"Since when do _you_ drink screwdrivers?" the Doctor asked.

"Since _now!_"

The Doctor stared at him, looking up. The Master thought he might have stopped being thick there for a moment and actually _understood_ something… which _worried_ him… worried him _A LOT_ because on the _rare_ and _unusual_ occasions when the Doctor _actually understood something_, he usually understood it _far too well_.

"Alright, Master," the Doctor nodded, "just hold on until Harold gets done with his business."

As he spoke the mutt-strosity returned, tail wagging, to the Doctor.

"Oh, good boy!" the Doctor bent down to pet the dog.

The Master felt an involuntary stab of jealousy for the tender care that filthy mongrel got. Reduced to this, a power among the Time Lords, felt jealous… of a _dog_. God, he needed that LICK-IT-ALL, THEN he could go back to evil-doing and whatnot. The whatnot chiefly including shagging the Doctor every waking hour of the day.

In a procession that seemed to take _forever_, they eventually made it back to the TARDIS.

To the Master's astonishment, there was a package sitting at the foot of the TARDIS. But how could…? Why would it…?

The Master rushed forward, making sure the package was addressed to him, Harold Saxon. Yes, it was. Weird… very, very weird…

"What's that, then?" the Doctor asked, peering over the Master's shoulder.

The Master clutched it to his chest and whirled, "Nothing, it's um…"

"Master, I can't have you ordering weapons, let me see it," the Doctor stretched out his hand for it.

The Master began to snarl, but then thought of something, "It's… it's for Harold! I sent out for a proper dog tag for him!"

"Oh did you?" the Doctor smiled, "See, I knew you two would warm up to each other."

The Master smiled beguilingly as the Doctor opened the TARDIS, then growled at muttzilla.

As they entered the TARDIS began playing music, "Meet me in the red room, close the door and dim the lights…"

"Hold on," the Doctor frowned, surprised.

The Master's jaw dropped, no… it couldn't be… the TARDIS playing _mood music_ for HIM?!

It was… it was almost as if all the events that the Master had only ever dreamed of as possible were suddenly happening because some mildly crazed person was controlling them to be so.

All too soon the Doctor shut it off, "Ah… found the problem, left the CD player on shuffle. I forgot that was on my _Moulin Rouge_ soundtrack…"

"Now," said the Doctor, rejoining Harold and Saxon, "I think I'll go finish that banana special in my jimjams… night-night Harold, Master." The Doctor whistled Elephant Love Medley as he descended to his bedroom.

The Master rolled his eyes, then turned to the usurper of all the Doctor's affections. "Come here, Harold, let's go up to the garden…" the Master's toothy smile was possibly scarier than his coldest stare.

Harold, not knowing what else to do, obediently let the Master lead him up the garden… and his unwitting _doom!_

For, as soon as they had made it up to the garden, the Master locked the door… "Now, my furry, four-footed friend," because the Master had always enjoyed menacing alliterations, "I can't have you spoiling my plans for tonight, so… you're going to go to sleep for a good, long while." With that, the Master pulled out… a BAR OF CHOCOLATE!

Unbeknownst to anyone, he'd knicked from the kitchen before they'd left on their walk.

Harold walked up to him, sniffing at the bar. "Yes, yes good boy, you stinking, filthy animal, come and eat the nice bar of chocolate," the Master unwrapped the chocolate for him and threw it at his feet.

"Cheers mate," he smirked, leaving the garden. He then rushed to his own room and ripped off his ridiculous getup. That done, he put on the sexiest pajamas he had, and adjourned to the bathroom for one final preparatory step.

_Directions:_

_Apply solution directly to tongue. Proceed to lick the object._

_CAUTION: DO NOT swallow solution! Solution may prove toxic to some species, ask your doctor for further instructions._

The Master snorted, of all the things he _was_ going to do to _his Doctor_, asking him about this solution would NOT be one of them. Dousing a cotton ball in the substance, the Master rubbed it over his tongue, gagging a little at the vaguely plastic taste of it. Making doubly, and triply sure that his tongue, lips, mouth in general, was coated, he resealed the bottle and hid it at the bottom of the trash bin. If he was lucky, he wouldn't need it anymore anyway.

The Master gave himself one last once over and exited the bathroom. He paused on the way down to the Doctor's bedroom, making sure that the mutt was safely locked in the garden, fast asleep. Smirking at the idiotic thing as it appeared to be chasing something in its dream, the Master, full of more hope than ever, continued in some haste down to the Doctor's door.

He swallowed reaching the door, involuntarily. The solution made him choke a little, but a little toxic saliva was NOT going to stop a Time Lord. Especially _this_ Time Lord who was in pursuit of conquest of _another_ Time Lord. He recovered himself and nonchalantly pushed open the door.

The Doctor noticed nothing.

Ignoring his usual seat of the high-backed chair in the corner, the Master went straight to the Doctor's bed, where he was sitting on the edge, eagerly watching the second part of the special on bananas, and sat down.

The Doctor didn't even glance up.

This was good. This was very, _very_ good, because if he had looked up then the Master would had to have come up with some reasonable and yet totally unrelated reason for sitting here. And he probably would have blown his cover in the process. To the last possible second, _everything_ had to appear as normal: bitter enemies who just happened to be living together.

The Master gazed on his precious Doctor as the idiot delighted himself in the 600 ways of opening a banana… the Master desperately tried to drown out the television, it was seriously messing with his mojo. So much so that the Master had actually used the term 'mojo' in thought.

Leaning forward very slowly, like a ninja, the Master neared the nape of the Doctor's neck.

The Doctor noticed nothing.

Just a little closer and… *lick*! He shot back to the head of the bed, just before the Doctor turned around.

He raised an eyebrow at the Doctor as the Doctor stared at him, rubbing behind his ear, "Did you just lick me?" the Doctor inquired, stupefied.

The Master frowned, as if insulted, "No, why would I lick you?" he made a disgusted noise. Privately, deep inside, he was _humming_ with delight, he had tasted _good_… he couldn't wait for another taste!

"But… just now, it felt like…. You're sure you didn't lick me?" the Doctor asked one last time.

The Master put on a face that clearly said, 'I am indescribably SHOCKED that you would accuse me of such a thing, you _pervert!_' The urge to use the evil-laugh was almost impossible to hold down as the Doctor turned back to the TV, still consternated.

The Master restrained himself until after the next commercial, smiling gleefully behind the Doctor's back as the advert about LICK-IT-ALL came on. Once more, he leaned forward, precariously close this time, and licked just underneath his ear again. This time he couldn't help closing his mouth over the sensitive skin there in a brief, but pulse-pounding kiss.

He just barely restored himself to his former position when the Doctor turned around with the most adorably surprised look on his face, his big brown eyes widened even more in disbelief.

"You licked me!" the Doctor accused him, turning more fully around.

"What? That's absurd, of course I didn't," the Master acted as unbothered as you please.

"Yes you did! You must have!" the Doctor insisted, "My ear's wet and I don't think the TARDIS has sprung a leak," he glared at the Master.

The Master shrugged, "Maybe your precious _pet_ licked it while you weren't looking and you just haven't noticed until now," the Master finished testily.

The Doctor glowered, but turned back to the telly without another word. The Master smirked his incredibly-self-assured-verging-on-arrogant smirk. He was wearing the Doctor down, he might have countered that, but _no…_ oh, the Master couldn't stand it any longer!

SEXUAL FRUSTRATION **BE OVER!**

The Master leapt on the Doctor, pinning him to the bed beneath him and snogged the living daylight out of him with such violent force that they fell to the floor, dragging some of the sheets with them and canceling out the television's signal.

**ALL. AT THE SAME. **_**TIME!**_

…it couldn't have gone better if he'd planned it.

After some tussling in the sheets, and this WAS the kind of tussle that ended up in naked wrestling, they both threw the covers off, gasping for air.

"_Master_," the Doctor gasped, in _that_ voice…

The Master closed his eyes briefly, a look of divine ecstasy coming over his face, "Oh _yes_ Doctor… say it _again_, say _my name_ again…"

The Doctor barely got past the first syllable before the Master had lunged at him again, tearing his pajamas open for access to his throat and chest, trailing a path of searing, steamy kisses over every inch of skin he found. The Doctor was simply rendered incapable of speech after that.

The Master picked up the Doctor after a moment and threw him back on the bed. Throwing off his own clothes and the Doctor, foreseeing that he may not need his any longer, lay stripped and bare. He paused a moment to glory in his truest love's naked flesh before landing on top of him, flesh to flesh, hearts to pounding hearts. Everything the way it always should have been…

The night absconded them both in its heat and sultry fingers wrapping them both in lust and eroticism. There was no time, no space, no reality, no existence, just the next thrill as they carried each other higher and higher unto the hardest climax of them all!


	4. Part 4

Many hours later.

Many, _many_… _hours… later..._

So many hours later it could have been DAYS.

The Master woke up briefly, his lover's limbs strewn about and around him, still in the gentle sleep of post-coital joy. The Master allowed himself a small, soft smile, a true smile, not a smirk, that he only reserved for the Doctor on those still moments when there was no war between them. Alas, but he couldn't stay… he had vengeance to reek.

In the nude, because there was really no point in putting his clothes on, he stepped out of the unrecognizable chamber that was the Doctor's bedroom and out into the TARDIS. Sure enough, as he closed the door, he heard the barking of a most unwelcome guest.

Taking his sweet time, the Master approached the garden where his latest enemy sat yapping away.

"_You..._" the Master hissed, "you are in _big_ trouble now." Grabbing the mutt by the collar he dragged it all the way down to the front door of the TARDIS.

He set it down, opened the door, and removed the collar. In a flash, the dog bolted away. The Master grinned triumphantly and slammed the door shut. As he turned back inside, the TARDIS began singing, "It's… not… easy having yourself a good time!"

_No._ It couldn't _be!_ The TARDIS… the _TARDIS_ was _actually_ playing his song! The Master cheered and, swinging the dog collar on his finger, proceeded back to his new bedroom, where the Doctor would probably be waking up, cold, and slightly confused as to where his Master had gone.

"Oh, _Doctor_…" the Master sang, "look what new toy I've brought you…"

THE

(SLIPPERY)

END


	5. Traken Day

A/N: And what is _this_? A _bonus chapter?_ For _Valentine's_ Day? You shouldn't have!

No, I really shouldn't... :D ENJOY!

**February 14****th**

_A day, which for some undetermined reason, became the Earth-wide day for love and romance. _

"Disgusting," the Master cringed, watching two humans, erm, perform a 'genetic transfer' while sappy music played in the background. Some soulful woman singer was belting some hideously romantic lyrics.

"Just sick…" the Master continued, "at least Time Lords never documented their sexcapades…"

"No, the _actions_ were bad enough," the Doctor remarked dryly, munching on some popcorn.

The Master smiled his particularly serpentine, villainous smile and leaned over to whisper quietly in the Doctor's ear, "That's not what you _moaned_ last night…"

The Doctor nearly spilled all his soda onto the people in the row in front of them as he choked violently.

The Master returned to his seat, pleased with himself.

The Doctor eventually swallowed the kernel lodged in his throat and refocused on the movie. "I choose to disregard that comment. But, really, why are you complaining? They don't do a half-bad job of it," the Doctor chose, not entirely wisely, to munch on some more popcorn.

The Master turned him, with a dead-pan look on his face, that clearly read, "But _darling_… just think how much better _I_ could do."

The Doctor's mouth ran dry as he glanced up at the Master and had trouble swallowing his mouthful. He resolved not to eat anymore of the popcorn in front of the Master.

"Yes, well… point taken," the Doctor's face said in return as he turned back to the screen.

To anyone who had gotten bored with the movie and had instead decided to watch the strange couple in front of them, the sexual tension could be cut with a knife, the flirtation unmistakable, but that was the oddest part of all. _Beyond_ it being two fully grown men watching a sickly romantic film on Valentine's Day, only ONE them seemed to realize the incredible force of their magnetism to each other. The other appeared to be entirely ignorant of it or just barely realizing it.

-

Finally, after many cheap tricks and complaints by the Master, including a little grab-ass in the theater, and several discouragements and chastising from the Doctor, the pair of awkward lovers returned to the TARDIS. By the time they'd got home, the Master had thought of a hundred different ways to make this so-called 'Valentine's Day' the _best_ the Doctor could ever imagine.

"So… I think after that movie, we should… I dunno, haven't spent many Valentine's with people… what do you want to do, Master?"

The Master grinned… it wasn't _what_ he wanted to do, it was _who_… and _how_. But the Master was going to surprise him, so he said, "Hmm… I'm not sure, I've just got to pop upstairs for a minute and then I'll have an idea," and as innocently as you please, he did just that, right under the Doctor, rather attractive, nose.

So… out of many options, each more devious than the last, the Master decided to give it the old fashioned, no-holds-barred, 'oh, look at that, I seem to have misplaced my clothes' approach.

Stripping to his barest nude, the Master examined himself in the bathroom mirror. Oh yes, this was most certainly the best Valentine's Day present the Doctor had EVER gotten.

Descending the staircase, the Doctor was absorbed in guiding the TARDIS somewhere, totally oblivious to his very stealthy lover just above. For once, the Master was pleased with this annoying habit, it made it easier to sneak up on him and then made his surprise so much greater.

As he crept up behind the Doctor, hoping for a "Is that a banana in your pocket?" line, the Doctor turned full 'round and saw it all, spoiling all the Master's fun, "So, I reckon it might be worth it if we went all the way back to the first ever Valentine's Day, what'd'ya think?"

The Master blinked at him, a little speechless that the Doctor had actually managed to complete a _thought_ in the presence of his nakedness.

The Doctor stared at him a moment longer, waiting for a reply, before awkwardly turning back to the TARDIS, "Right… stupid question, who wants to go all that far back in this weather? Nah, let's go somewhere tropical… what about Valentine's Day in Haiti? Oh no wait, they've just had an earthquake, right…" the Doctor babbled on, seeming completely impervious and unaffected by the Master's lack of clothing.

The Master was… _gob smacked_. This was IMPOSSIBLE! The Doctor ought to have been a quivering, wibbly blob in front of him, a puddle of lust, but here! Here he was, flying the TARDIS, yakking on and on as usual! WHAT _WAS_ THIS?! His eyes hadn't even _flicked_, for the tiniest moment, towards his most Time Lord-y parts! THIS WAS RIDICULOUS!

The Master KNEW he was sex walking, so WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON?! Just ten minutes ago the Doctor had been choking to death from the barest hint of bed-wrestling with him and now… it was like he had gone blind!

Now, there was a logical solution.

"Doctor!" he suddenly broke in, "Have you gone blind or are you just completely mad now?"

The Doctor looked up again, "No, why? Is something wrong?"

The Master's jaw was on the floor, "What's wrong?! WHAT'S _WRONG?!_ I'M STANDING STARK NAKED IN FRONT OF YOU AND YOU'RE ASKING ME WHERE YOU OUGHT TO FLY THE TARDIS!"

The Doctor blinked again, then returned to what he was doing, "Well, we could go the France, but that's a bit stereotypical... besides, it's freezing there this time of year. Maybe we could try…"

"ARE YOU DEAF AS WELL AS BLIND NOW?!" the Master screamed.

The Doctor didn't even look up now.

The Master gave up; he stalked off to their bedroom. He didn't understand it, he _couldn't_ understand it! It just… it was ununderstandable! His ego was completely shattered, though he'd never admit it… entirely IGNORED by his, god help him, his _lives-time partner_… this was UNTHINKABLE.

What was he going to do now? He couldn't go do evil things to deal with his rejection like he'd done in the past, no, there was only one thing to do now… the one thing he'd sworn to himself he'd never do… become emo.

-

The Doctor landed the TARDIS… exactly where they'd left. He grinned to himself, that'd been more fun than he expected! He chuckled a little even. Yeah, it was a little hard on the guy, but it was all good fun in the end, _especially_ in the end… He chewed his lip in temptation of said event.

It hadn't been easy though, when he'd come downstairs all… _naked_, for Rassilon's sake! That man could start a riot in a room full of blind people with his aura of sex drive! It had been nigh impossible when he was so hot under the collar to keep from just launching himself at the Time Lord and having frenzied bunny-sex in every room they could find. Which was a plan that had crossed his mind, but in the end the 'ignore his charm and appeal' routine won out as being more fun, and just a little vengeful.

Now… to initiate part two of the "Best Valentine's Day EVER" plan…

-

The Master had searched in all the Doctor's trunks that he _thought_ were hidden, and eventually found what he was looking for. He walked into the Doctor's private bathroom and prepared…

-

The Doctor raced up to the top of the TARDIS, the very top, which was quite a ways and he always worked up a sweat getting there, but that was the point really… _most_ people after his deepest, darkest secrets would give up before they got here. Rummaging through the rubbish heap that _was_ his deepest, darkest secrets, he found the small bottle he was looking for, "Oh yes," he whispered, "there you are…"

-

The bleach stung a little, but he felt it had to be done. As his newly blond hair dried he admired his still nude self in the mirror. He had gotten a little scruffy lately, partly because now he could go out in public and have less of a chance of being noticed, unless you looked twice, and partly because he knew the Doctor always found his facial hair to be sexy. No beard this time, beard wouldn't work with his new bone structure, but a little scruff… that definitely added something to his physique. With this thought, his ego perked up a little.

-

The Doctor gave up running and just slid down the TARDIS banister all the way to the bathroom. That is, until the friction started to burn a hole in his pants and… it started to… rub him the wrong way… *ahem* So then he just gingerly walked the rest of the way down. He winced knowing how much more it was going to hurt in a few minutes, but… it had to be done.

-

The Master toyed with the idea of stealing a black hoodie from the Doctor's closet, but… hell, he liked being nude and as long as he wasn't getting any, what did it matter? More depressed than he'd been in awhile, he turned on the TV and actually… started watching a documentary on the origination of the sonic screwdriver… oh _Rassilon!_

-

The Doctor strode into the bedroom without any kind of warning, "Master, you remember that day when you licked me?" He hadn't turned round from shutting the door.

The Master's eyes widened in disbelief, no… he couldn't _know!_ …could he?

"Yeah…" the Master answered, on edge.

The Doctor finally turned around, untying his tie in a very sexy way, "Well… turn about is fair play," he said with a devilish grin.

The Master's face said, "Guh…" in shock, but his eyes were slowly starting glow with an, "_OH YES!_"

"You see Master, the most important Valentine's Day tradition," he was sliding his coat off now, "is the _candy._"

The Master couldn't believe what he was hearing, but his body could, and it sat him up, erect, in _all_ sorts of places…

The Doctor knelt, that amazingly charming leer still in place.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Master."

-

**February 15****th**

_The day after Valentine 's Day, when all lonely people celebrate that it's over and all _coupled_ people are awake for the dawning of._

"Doctor, I think some of my malice is rubbing off on you," the Master said much later in the night, possibly the morning.

The Doctor mumbled into the Master's shoulder, "Why'd'you say tha…?"

"That trick you played on me was cruel and you know it," the Master pouted.

The Doctor winked up at him, "Ah, but you got the present in the end, didn't you?"

The Master couldn't pout at that, he smiled gleefully.

"You realize this a tradition now?"

"Oh, wouldn't dream of it any other way, Master," the Doctor snuggled closer.


End file.
